


Shatterstar ficlets

by kikibug13



Category: Marvel 616, X-Factor (Comics)
Genre: Aliens, Established Relationship, Friendship/Love, Loneliness, Love, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Short, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-10
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-04 03:11:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikibug13/pseuds/kikibug13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Little glimpses at a character that fascinates me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some days

**Author's Note:**

> Some of these may end up not quite compliant with each other, as I learn more and try to fit it all together. Some of these may have more than a faint flavor of hurt/comfort and/or fix-it.

Some days, Shatterstar's smile was only for the cameras.

No, he hadn't been in the arena for almost as much time as he'd been on primetime, but that was still the one way which said it best.

It was true that such days were rare when Julio paid attention to him. It was harder to feel alone when Rictor's hand warmed the small of his back the moment that 'Star started spacing out. Anchoring him in the present, where he had friends, where he had people who paid attention, who wanted him there for himself. Anchoring him to the one person who showed him what else there was to discover, about himself and people and the world, this world. All the worlds.

It was harder. 

But it still happened. 

Those days, he quietly evaded Monet, because she'd purse her lips and narrow his eyes and never breathe a word about being disappointed that she couldn't fix it for him. Those days, Longshot would find his way to his side, and sit with him quietly, the TV on, or maybe even not. The blond's laughter would be on hold, and 'Star would be so infinitely grateful for this. There were things about them, between them, that would never be said. But 'Star knew them, and the blue eyes not looking at him (not accusing him, without knowing) were good enough.

Those days, he would train until even his body protested, until the motions stopped making sense and his muscles screamed and his mind refused to go back into a state where it would be manageable.

Those days, Theresa would hum, whenever she was around him. Just for him. She would never sing, she wouldn't talk to him. But she would hum, and when his heartbeat slowed to the rhythm of her melody, he wouldn't feel quite so empty.

Those days, he would sit on the rooftop and watch the sun set, and then hold his knees under his chin and watch out over the rooftops until he was shivering, and sit some more, and when he slipped under the covers, carefully, Rictor would still awaken, barely. He'd reach across and brush off a tear with his thumb, and not ask. Despite his chilled limbs, Julio would gather him close, and Gaveedra-Shatty-Star would try to make himself small and quiet by his side, and Rictor wouldn't care for that.

Even if daylight saw them together in sharp edges and thoughtless words that drew blood, some of those days, Julio never failed to know when he couldn't be absent for the night. His hands and lips would be gentle. And sometimes they would be gentle until 'Star was writhing and screaming silently and releasing over and over again, and sometimes they would be gentle and soft over his brow, in his hair, and stop at that.

When the nightmares came - they always came, after those days - he'd cling to Rictor like a lifeline, and even if Julio was too exhausted to stay awake, he'd hold him back until the thought of the swords returned under the pillows and he stopped smelling blood, sand, and Mojo.

The next morning, he wouldn't be camera-worthy. Cheeks too hollow, eyes too old. 

Good, because he'd have personally killed all the cameras he ever spotted the next mornings.


	2. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something must have gone really wrong, before Cortex. And 'Star won't go into details (when does he ever?)

Shatterstar rarely sleeps. He used to sleep more, Rictor remembers, even if not too much before, either, and rarely around anyone but Ric himself. Now it's usually those contemplative states which do leave him rested - and are good enough for Ric to sleep, too. But it's not the same and Ric knows it. And worries.

And he knows that 'Star rarely sleeps because every time he does sleep, there are nightmares. Something's changed - 'Star didn't use to dream all that often at all, though there were bad ones before, too - but never like this. Never this often.

Compared to sleep, at least.

Julio isn't a light sleeper at all. He usually doesn't wake up until 'Star rolls out of bed, his back tense and glistening with cold sweat. It's not too late to offer comfort, and 'Star sometimes talks about the dreams. He was _not_ joking, when he said that things on Mojoworld haven't taken a turn for the better. 

Between the sight and sound of nighttime New York and Ric's touches, he calms down and returns to bed. Back to sleep for Ric and contemplation for 'Star, and easy, calm grace in the morning. 

But 'usually' isn't 'always.' It's only happened two or three times by the time Ric gets his powers back, and it's terrifying. Waking up to a guttural language - not Cadre - mumbled out of thin lips, with a faint sheen of perspiration above them. Ric's touch waking a stranger, and the swords making an appearance from under the pillow, the edges at Ric's throat, a heartbeat away from skewering or decapitating him. He stays very still for the few heartbeats it takes recognition to return. Then 'Star's eyes widen, and he pulls the blades away before whispering, begging for forgiveness in a voice that's still not quite him. Not the proud, innocent warrior (innocence isn't always measured in how much blood isn't on your hands) that Ric got to know. This man is broken, shaken out of shape, and he dares try to touch him again, try to hold him together.

It feels like pieces of 'Star are spilling over his fingers, and he can't stop it. 

When the breaking stops, Ric dares ask what the dream was. What was that bad. 'Star, safe in the shelter of his arms (and he doesn't need the reassurance - he _knows_ he's the only one who holds the alien like this, no matter how many people he kisses, or sleeps with - well has sex with) goes very quiet.

The second time, just when Ric thinks he won't get an answer again, 'Star does say something. "I know too much."

It makes little sense, but Ric doesn't push. 

(One day, when he's seen 'Star truly undone, he'll get more of an explanation, words tumbling out of those full, beautiful lips while a shoulder-length-haired Gaveedra is fixing a machine to do an unspeakable act and Ric is holding a baby that fills his heart with wonder while the mother is resting, too exhausted, still not knowing what is coming for her.)

("How have you been living, alone with all _that_?" he will ask, eyes wide with horror at what has yet to be done.)

("I had you." The familiar, beloved eyes will flit to his, so filled with sadness that it's more than Ric can bear, then return to the machinery. "You are free to stop loving me, now that you know. I still need you, but you don't have to be bound to... this.")

("For somebody as smart as you are, you're a moron." Ric will be ashamed of the tremor in his voice, or the tear that splashes over the dark birthmark on the baby's face, almost waking him up, but he won't back down. "You and I, we don't do that well alone. Gotta see what good'll come out of it, in the end...")

('Star will pause, looking down at his hands, then slowly raise his eyes to Ric's once more. He'll be fighting the hope. And words won't come out.)

(Ric will cross the distance between them, cradle the baby safely in one arm, and reach the other hand to cup 'Star's cheek. Then he'll lean in, and kiss his lips. "I'm terrified. And horrified. And I know you are, too. You don't have to carry all the weight alone anymore. I've got you.")

("Thank you, Julio," 'Star will whisper, grip Ric's shoulder, and return to fixing the machinery. That night, when the two of them are alone, once more, and Ric's soul aches, 'Star will sleep, exhausted. And the nightmares won't come.)

They meet the dawn together, exhausted, unsure of what's to come, tangled up close but separated by not knowing. It's still better than each of them lost to the other.


	3. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I found that things on Mojoworld had changed, and not for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is longer, somewhat disturbing. Partly, it's based off some stipulations made in [DarkeAngelus](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkeAngelus/)'s lovely fics. Some of the guesses deviate. I love how all the theories can have some basis in truth!

Shatterstar was still numb, from Rictor's parting words. And by numb, one should understand _angry_ , angry beyond words or reason. He'd thought he understood what was happening. He'd thought he understood where they were going - that they were going someplace together. That the sneaking, half-painful, half-beautiful sensation snaking in his stomach at the Mexican's company was, in the end, good. Shared. That the touches between them had been natural and right. And wanted.

Even months later (even knowing that Julio wasn't among the small number of Earth mutants who had retained their powers), the bitterness wasn't gone from his mouth, or the heaviness from his stomach, and the latter had nothing to do with the way he moved, or fought.

Those were good as they had been. 

But nothing changed what had happened. Nothing made him forget it. 

So Shatterstar made a decision that even he knew for a probable mistake. 

He returned to Mojoworld. To the time after he'd killed Mojo. Hoping that maybe a freed Mojoworld (was it still called Mojoworld?) would give him the strength he needed to _be_ a warrior and turn his back to this wallowing. 

Mojo no longer ruled, that much he knew almost as soon as he stepped into the familiar, hot, dry air. There was a mix of Spineless ones and everyone else on the streets. It gave him something that was close to hope, for all of a few hours. Then he realized people recognized him, that they shut him out of the real answers to his questions. It put him on alert that was only partially explained by the fact that the games were still going. Regularly. There was less of them televised, but what he did see was brutal, and somehow strange.

He was insufficiently on alert to evade the ruler of his birth-world when she did come for him, early on the second night. 

*** 

He woke up in pain. Sharp pain from broken limbs, and duller pain from bruises and cuts.

He shouldn't, his healing factor should have taken care of the damages, he thought in the darkness.

Shatterstar wasn't confused about where he was. The smells and even sounds were far too familiar to ever mistake the small room for anything other than what it was - part of the slave pens behind the Arena. It wasn't a _good_ part of the Pens - it was where punishments and experiments were led. He'd rarely found himself here - he'd been far, far too successful, even before he was old enough to hit Primetime to be considered a good subject. 

But he had been here when his swords had been bonded to him. It was never a fond memory, and yet it was the reason why those swords always meant so much to him. He'd paid for it in blood, and pain, and worse, and they were _his_.

The pain was different, now. It was plain body pain, and he was very unused to having to bear that for very long. That one time when he'd gotten careless and too shot up, before things went bad, with Rictor. That one time after he killed Mojo, though it had been still short. Something was wrong, now. He wasn't healing at all, and he wasn't as damaged as either of those times.

He stayed silent. He knew the person whose quiet breathing he was hearing would explain, eventually. 

"No whimpers? Perhaps I didn't break enough bones."

"You look for acknowledgment of pain from the wrong person, Spiral." 

"Ah, yes. Of course."

Silence. It must be late at night, or probably early morning. Well past when the games for the night were over and any entertainment with the slaves had run its course. He could hear the measured steps of the guards, but few other wakeful noises. He waited.

"I didn't expect that you'd come back here yet, Shatterstar. You would have, eventually. You will witness when Mojo first shows me to the rebels, you know. There is so much you'll do here. But I didn't expect you, yet. Though now that you're here, I know what must be done."

"Must?" 

"You'll see. You have much to learn."

She opened the door, her unique, graceful outline shaping against the sickly blue light of the hallway. 

"You won't heal properly - and you won't be able to do much else that you expect to do - until you can free the part of your Uemeur that I've got captured. And you can't do that until you use your special powers for that purpose."

He tensed. "I need my swords, to use my unique abilities."

She laughed. 

"You do. But they haven't helped much, recently, have they?" 

Before he could answer, she'd walked out and closed the door.

Attempting to free himself from the chains that bound him - plain chains, he noticed, not the power dampeners that Mojo had had him and Cable in, that time - broke his already shattered arm in a second place. It was difficult to breathe, through the searing pain. Eventually, he passed out. He woke up still in darkness. Less hungry and thirsty. His broken bones set and immobilized. Somewhat. He could cause himself more damage, if he decided to.

By the third day, he did. 

*** 

He was mostly healed when he woke up and knew something was changed forever. One small motion of his head was enough. 

His hair was shaved off.

Shatterstar was returning to the Arena.

*** 

Bonding him to his new blades was worse than the first pair. He'd felt helpless, defenseless, the first time. With these, he was mentally stripped down, and that left emotions, and they were still raw and inappropriate. She was there, of course, and he could see her eyes glowing in the darkness at the revelations empathetically surrounding him before they became part of the bond to the swords.

She didn't comment. Then she left him with his new weapons. 

Even in the darkness, he knew these were better. They fit with him completely, not just an extension of his arms and his mind, but rooted deep in his center, too. He couldn't wait until he could experience them fully, with his Uemeur, as well. 

As soon as he was alone, he focused, forcing his scratchy, rarely used voice into a steady hum.

He woke up, many hours later. Free from his chains, but sufficiently drained to know that his healing was not returned. The room didn't seem damaged by the explosion, either. 

Spiralled walked in, two days later, when he was finally able to sit up again. 

"You said I would free my Uemeur when I used my powers!"

"Ah, but you have only used a sloppy, tiny part of them, Shatterstar. You're no longer just the singer's son. You can do much more, now." He could feel her smile, as she petted the stubble on his head. 

"I do not understand what you mean."

Though he did, a little. Somebody had once mentioned something about Longshot's wife being pregnant, and the name he was carrying being mentioned for her son. But she had never given birth.

Spiral's smile spread further. 

"Oh, you will. I'll tell you parts of a story. Some of it, you will know far better, soon."

And she did. Snatches of different times and people and lives. Spanning dimensions. In no particular order. When she left him, he crawled to the corner where facilities were left for him, now that he was free of the chains, to relieve himself, and vomited, disgusted with himself. But he knew she hadn't been wrong. He would do what he had to do, for the sliver of hope she'd given him.

*** 

His healing returned when he'd honed the use of his energy enough to open a portal and stumble through it. It was in the middle of a battle, and he wanted to go right back, but he was too exhausted. He tried, anyway, but he lost consciousness. It was the fact that he came to barely minutes later, rather than hours, that told him he was whole, again. 

It was the fact that he was years before the fight he'd been in that worried him. It fit in with what Spiral had hinted he'd be able to do, somehow. But he hadn't done it on purpose, had no idea how to control it, and, standing up slowly in the currently-empty Arena, ready to take on the guards that would inevitably come for him, soon, he was alone. She wasn't here to tell him what it meant, what to do with it.

*** 

Shatterstar found he could move in time, in both directions, all alone. His control was unworthy, but he could set the direction, and, slowly, improve his control in the amount. 

He found out that it took him four hours, after a portal, to be able to make another without serious risk to his abilities to fight immediately after. Or his health. That one time when he tried it too soon, the drain on his system was far worse than his original powers. 

Eventually, he had sufficient control to return the fight he had escaped without meaning to. He won it, of course. 

Spiral smirked. 

Then, almost too soon, she showed him what he could do with an anchor. The pain was excruciating, though at least his healing factor took the edge off it soon enough. Her explanation was that her connection to him was too tenuous, in his mind. She didn't explain. 

She wanted him to take her places, places where she couldn't go without Mojo. He set a condition. Two, actually. One was to know what that connection between them was. The other was to help him open a portal to return to earth so he could act on some of the story she'd told him. She considered both for a long time. Then agreed.

She told him he might have company on the journey, without her. 

Fekting Cortex.


	4. Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things between 'Star and Ric can get rocky. Help may come from an unexpected direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Then I read a couple of fics where, in private, Longshot calls 'Star 'little one' and I couldn't get it out of my mind. There may be more bonding between the two, if I can brain it, later.

"You should tell him."

'Star spun around to catch sight of Longshot's blond head tilted to one side, a strand of hair resting on his cheek just so. He bared his teeth in a silent snarl. He knew he shouldn't be angry at the other Mojoworlder, Za's vid, for so many reasons, but he couldn't help it, right now. It all hurt too much.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe I do, little one."

Not many things took Shatterstar completely by surprise, but the nearly silent words managed it. He spun about, stared. Longshot shrugged. He switched to Cadre, though he kept his voice low. 'Star was thankful, Rictor knew Cadre rather well.

"Not everything was taken. Perhaps it was luck, but I remember the three of you - him, you, and the baby. And how tired Allison was. Other things took more than you did, but that, I remember." He smiled, a sadness straining the usual bright expression. "You were so small."

'Star watched him for a while longer, then looked away. His stomach shouldn't twist like this, and he shouldn't feel relief, not for things that hadn't happened, yet, and still.

"I can not tell him. He will leave."

"Do you trust him so little?"

The glare was back, and Longshot raised both hands, palms forward.

"You cannot see how changed he is, since you returned. I do not think he will."

"What would you know?"

It was Longshot's turn to glare. "Do not mock things you broke, little one. There is more pain there than you can comprehend."

'Star's eyes widened, and then, slowly, he looked down.

The blond sighed, stepping closer. He didn't reach to touch him, but the distance between them was precise enough to say all that needed to be said. "If you did it, then it needed to be done. But do not mock it."

Shatterstar was silent, until his insides unclenched, a little. "I am no better than her. Spiral."

Longshot's lips thinned. "That remains to be seen." He did reach, now, squeezing his shoulder in a manner not quite of this world. "Don't be her. Don't be worse than her. You have it in you. For his sake."

Sighing wasn't something that he did much of, but now 'Star gave one, small and quiet. There was something so strange and irresistible in somebody believing in him. New. Beautiful. Shaking. Especially when it was _this_ person. How had somebody as bright come to existence because of him, he wondered. Arize didn't change personalities. "You are a better man than I--"

"Do not say that, little one. You are good. It may be a different good than what you see in me, but it is good."

After a long time, 'Star nodded. 

"Now go to him. Love doesn't have to be the same thing all the time. Find what it is now."

Another nod, and he turned to go. But, at the doorway, he turned back again with a small smile. "You won't tell anyone." It wasn't a question. It was a conclusion.

Longshot shrugged. "Would he believe me?"

"Is that why you pretend?" 

The silence was Longshot's, this time. "I do not want their pity."

"You won't have mine."

And he was gone.


	5. Elsewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long-haired, present day-ish Shattertsar ends up in the world of our heroes. Battle and sex happen. 
> 
> Or, that one threesome that not even Julio Richter will turn down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partially based off RP with [starkly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/starkly/). And, yes, break from ~feelings~ for some pwp.

'Star didn't know what he was doing here. It was a world much like his own, but it was not his own. His phone had no reception, for one thing, and small details - especially smells - were subtly wrong. 

He headed for the X-Factor headquarters, anyway. 

He met himself, first. He was wearing different clothes, and his hair was shamefully short, but it was himself, he could not mistake the appearance, the scent, the motions. The swords that extended from his arms were different, too, and 'Star's eyes narrowed speculatively as his own blades came to hands, crossed, ready.

The other him looked around. 

"Not here."

'Star considered that for a moment, then nodded. He knew the dangers. One set of law enforcers or another would show up and take them away, if they fought in public. And fight they would.

It was an abandoned warehouse where they crossed blades. And it was _glorious_ , it had been a long time since he had fought somebody who understood both the force and the subtleties of his style of fighting, but who would do so more than himself? Within moments, there was no reason, or past or future, only the glory of the violence. He didn't need to doubt that it was himself, motions matched perfectly.

It probably lasted for hours, and it was all that mattered, during that time.

Eventually, between a leap and a slice, the other him finally spoke.

"You do not belong here."

"I do not."

"You will not try to harm my teammates. None of them."

"I was going to ask assistance to return where I come from."

It got him a nod, and more fighting. The intensity, the perfection of it did not fade, but, eventually, the other him crossed his blades. A brief hesitation, and he returned the gesture. It wasn't a draw, nor a loss. It was an honorable end to the fight, that they both recognized. His blood was on both sets of swords, and the first they did was clean them, before it would take longer. The task was familiar - for both of them - enough that they kept looking at each other over it.

Shatterstar-from-here made the first move, again. Gradual, nonthreatening. But - his swords visible and removed, he reached for one of his braids, fingers sliding down it in unguarded longing. (He could not hide from himself, after all. There was no need to try.)

"Who?" His question was quiet, and angry. The loss of the ponytail, of the braids. It would not have been voluntary. Or cheap, for whoever effected it.

"Spiral and Mojo," the answer was spat. "It was not the only thing they changed. We may be able to return you with less difficulty."

He could feel his eyebrows rise. That would be something to behold. And that meant that the most urgent issues were taken care of, which allowed for secondary options to occur to him. Like the fact that his own sweat and blood smelled arousing. (His sweat, because it mean fight or fuck, and both were good things. His blood, because it meant he was alive to smell it.) Slowly, he reached across to return the touch. Instead the hair, though, he ran a finger on the underside if his other self's chin.

The reaction was swift, and satisfactory - the light, agile body pounced his without hesitation, without need for further invitation. It was so good, to communicate with somebody who understood. Longshot did, sometimes, but he could not fuck him. Nor be fucked by him.

And his other self, it seemed, had learned many more things, about fucking. To 'Star's near-shame, he climaxed very fast, speared on his other self's hard cock. Even with his healing abilities, that made him sensitive, so he slid off and looked at his other self, sort of apologetically.

"It has been a while since this has happened. But I can't help the fact that I'm so hot. "

The look that was returned was somewhat questioning, because there was a lot of mystery still to be unfolded about the encounter, but mostly amused. "Shouldn't that be my line?"

Relieved that he had not given offense, (not that he'd have _taken_ offence, in the reverse situation, but still) - considered the question, his hand still on Shatterstar-from-here - the side, his thumb moving lightly. All the touches were, automatically, completely devoid of threat.

"Isn't it already? Your line, I mean."

At that question, Shatterstar-from-here looked thoughtful as well, leaning slightly into his touch as he contemplated the implications of their conundrum. It was probably not something worth thinking about while naked, but Star's mind always did wander at the most inappropriate moments.

"I suppose it is. Our line. As is what I'm saying now and whatever you say next."

'Star considered it, in turn, and his other self, shorter hair, somewhat slighter current physique - he could count his ribs, under the thin, dissipating sheen of sweat.

"Yes."

It occurred to him that he didn't have to speak in English. But he had little homesickness, let alone longing, for the tongues of Mojoworld - not even Cadre - and Spanish...

This was himself, true, but Spanish was still the tongue to share with Julio.

And then he knew his mind had wandered too much, and he gave Shatterstar a tentative small smile.

"But perhaps it is what I can do that matters more. I seem to have rushed ahead, now I can find a way to catch you up?"

And he licked his lips, as a possible suggestion. Love and war, people on earth always said, but - as far as 'Star was concerned - making sure all participants finish either activity as was their due? Was part of the activity.

"If you'd like to lend a hand. I won't complain."

Star smirked, nodding. His mouth lowered to that spot over his collarbone that was sensitive, and he reached down, stroking steadily. Then, an idea occurred to him, and he raised his head. He wanted to watch, he wanted to _see_ what he looked liked. For example, when he did _that_ twist of his hand which Julio always did to drive him wild. Shatterstar-from-here moaned and twitched up, oh, yes. Watching would be such a good idea--

And then his phone rang. The melody perfectly familiar as it was the one Monet had helped him choose for Julio's ringtone. Did his phone finally connect to a network? With an apologizing touch to the inside of his other self's thigh, and under the sound of dissatisfied groan, he dove for his phone. 

No. Still out of range. "Fekt."

"Mine should be in my trousers. Pick it up before he begins to worry."

Retrieving the actually ringing phone was very fast. Then he hesitated. If he were to pick it up in fact, it would be deceiving Julio. And he could, probably could, fool him. They were the same person, after all. And, yet...

He quietly passed on the device to Shatterstar-from-here. Who rolled his eyes, but answered. 'Star's hearing was more than good enough to pick up what was talked about. Madrox was irritating Julio by trying to be too bossy, and Longshot was freaking out for some reason. 

Actually, 'Star was probably the reason, all things considered. But that wasn't so relevant as the option he had in front of him right here. He licked his lips, and descended on Shatterstar-from-here's still prominent erection. Shatterstar-from-here's breath caught, and his eyes trained on him, hard, but pleased. That was all the encouragement he needed. Half a minute later, part of the phone was covered to let out a groan, and Julio's stream of words cut off. 

"Star? Who are you with?"

"Only myself, Julio." Their eyes met, and 'Star's eyebrows lifted, ever so slightly. Shatterstar-from-here's face spread out in a slow, wolfish grin. "And you can avoid both Madrox and Longshot by joining him. Here is the address."

He rattled it on, and then hung up. There was an immediate call back, but Shatterstar didn't answer it. "He'll be here."

"Mm-hmm," was all 'Star responded with, as his mouth was occupied. It was mostly moans that filled the space after that. 'Star was pacing him, too, and it irritated Shatterstar. His face was wearing that anger, so close to inflicting violence in retaliation, when the sound of the door of the warehouse opening and closing let them know Julio had arrived. He ran up to their spot, somewhat out of sight from the door, and started swearing. Clearly, the dried blood and the anger on Shatterstar's face was what he'd seen.

"Ay, pende-- _dios mio!_ "

Ah. He had seen 'Star, too. He raised his head enough to be able to smell the air, full of Julio-from-here's anger, slight spike of fear... and increasing arousal. He looked over his shoulder at him with a smirk, a strand from his ponytail falling across his face.

"Join us, Julio."

"Star!"

"Sí." 

Shatterstar-from-here's response was emphatic, certain. Julio returned to swearing, head in both hands, and _both_ Shatterstars moved in unison to go to him. Hands and mouths shedding away the concern, the worry. The clothing. 

Julio's arm went around the waist of Shatterstar-from-here, but his mouth came to him, and his other hand threaded fingers in his hair, beneath the holder of the ponytail in a gesture so familiar that he pressed his naked body against Rictor without having to think about it. 

It wasn't his Julio. His Julio hadn't quite done _this_ nearly since they had been in Mexico. These days, he stroked over it, and undid it, and combed fingers through the loose strands. But perhaps Julio-from-here had not touched his long hair since they _had_ been in Mexico. 

It was good sex, after that. There was a phone ringing several time, but as Shatterstar-from-here had to be nudged to climax, and then Julio, then 'Star himself again, and all over in a different order, it was summarily ignored. They kept going until Julio slumped, his face buried in the crook of his own Shatterstar's neck. He'd just come again, and slumped on top of his lover. 'Star's cock slipped out of him, and went into Shatterstar-from-here's hole, without much hesitation. Julio muttered in Spanish,

"You two go on, I need some time to get back to it."

He met Shatterstar's eyes over the dark shock of tangled hair, caressed easily by Shatterstar's hand. They shared a nod, and 'Star finished them both off, quickly. Then the two of them arranged Julio, who was almost - not quite - drowsing off between them, and let their bodies sync in the ways that they could.

Then it came, that happy, content, fucked out smile. It was Julio's alone, and it did not happen every time. Not when he had thought something was wrong, and - even still - sex with another man could still be thought wrong. Threesomes definitely counted.

But not this one.

Well, that was good to know, 'Star thought. He rested his cheek against the back of the neck of his lover's alternate, and let them rest, before it would be time to go home. Shatterstar-from-here knew how to do that, after all. 

There would be much to tell his Julio, soon enough.


End file.
